I am you no longer
by BlackStarXxX
Summary: Outisson Smith knows that he's on his own considering everyone who knows him thinks he's dead, now he's travelling on his own, trying to avoid the Doctor and all that, but he was never meant to be on his own. What happens when he runs into past version's of the Doctor and how will they react?
1. Chapter 1

Earth, late 22nd century, St. John's Acid Factory

A gloopy yellow puddle of Flesh rested on the cold brick ground of the abandoned monastery turned acid factory. It twitched , every fibre of being within it screamed in torment as agonizing pain coursed through its form with that one movement, because although the body had collapsed back into raw Flesh the mind of this ganger was still intact and semi aware of its surroundings and its memories.

It could tell that the massive amount of aid being brought up from the ground was spreading through out the halls of the factory, slowly melting liquefied brick mixed with the acid,spilling down the walls eating away at the ground and creating a cloud of posionious gas that lingered in the air.

It had to do something and fast or else the acid would burn the Flesh beyond repair, not only causing more pain but likely killing it as well.

_/No/_

The ganger focused all its energy forcing each cell and molecule of its being to muscles formed just beneath the surface of the Flesh, giving it more mass and making the skin grow more taut. Then the nerves and veins were created and pushed into their proper the bones were cremented into place giving it a define shape and the outer flesh,that would be the skin,rose off the form and changed colours taking the apperance of once the puddle of flesh lied now there was a very human-esque male figure

The ganger tried to breathe a sigh of relief but couldn't and realized only too late he had negleted to form any of his internal organs aside from the brain. The pain dispersed and was replaced by an all consuming numbness as blood refused to flow without a heart to pump it  
>Acid rained down from above narrowly missing the ganger as he laid there struggling to shape the rest of his body. Organs hastily regrew from the left over flesh inside his body; intestines, kidneys, liver, stomach, lungs and voice box.<p>

The numbness was leaving him slowly but the room was coming down on him all to quickly. Getting up on his hands and knees his wide eyes saw the liquid flesh of the other who was with him; Cleaves.

Stumbling over an kneeling down to examine it/her the Doctor's double lets out a low whine when he can't sense any brain act ivy; she gone and there's nothing he can do. The building's shaking, crumbling around him and he has to get out, he can't possibly save her so he flees, covering his newly formed nose and mouth form breathing in the toxic air. There wasn't much time, the factory was going to explode if he remembered correctly, Jenifer's ganger had tricked Rory the Roman into dedeiting the factory. How long did he have?

/_It doesn't matter so long as I run though_/

One foot in front of the other swinging his long arms, were the arms out of portion or was it normal? He didn't' know yet,couldn't get his bearings and everything that he does know was fuzzy, almost like a dream. Or a nightmare.

Run  
>Run/  
>It was the only chorent thought he had, nothing else was making any sense in his head.<p>

What _was_ in his head?

Starxtic, Early 51st Century, 2km West of St. Caleadex Monastery

It took a lot of debate but he had managed to end up here, he didn't know why he picked it honestly it just stood out in his unorganized mind, calling out to him. Starxtic was a beautiful planet, colonised by Humans and Watyers in the 47th century, It was smaller than Earth but the air was cleaner and anything that might cause pollution was strictly banned after the Choking Gas Year- CGY of 4637, humans were careful about this planet, out of the 3 galaxies the human race has dominated this is where 67% of crops come from and the only one popularised by Watyers and humans together.

Vortex Manipulator's were cheap and nasty time travel, always had been always will be but it's his only means of travel now. He couldn't travel as much as the other him did now, no Tardis and all that jazz but it wasn't all that bad. For one thing; he was alive. His moleculatler stcrture had survived. It had to count for something, didn't it?

Smith was an optimist; choosing to belief he had survived for a reason instead of dumb luck or Time Lord biology or whatever. All he had to do now was... well, find something to of all he was hungry, so needed food and second of all find out if he could digest food normally or if a Flesh thing prevented him from doing so and last of all he needed to come up with a first name.  
>Smith was good and all but unlike Doctor, people might ask questions. After the Family of Blood incident he was reluctant to say John.<p>

For an ancient, highly evolved, super intelligent alien brain that are those from a Time Lord, he had the oddest thoughts, like it was easy to be John Smith for Amelia,_ his_ Amelia, _their_ even easier to be the Doctor for her since he was the Doctor, weather she believed it or not, just like how she was Amy Pond, ganger or not.

Wading through the tall teal grass Smith felt liked laughing; Amy Pond. She was wholly undeniably his for an hour the Doctor and Rory be dammed. She was the girl who waited for the mad man in a blue box and for an hour she believed he was him and it was fantastic if not uneasy by how many remarks she made about the Flesh-Doctor-That-Is-Actually-Him.  
>In the end it was nice, but it doesn't matter, and it's just another day for it them.<p>

But it wasn't "just another day" for him, not for Smith. He was created, had 907 years worth of memories crammed into his head, was feverishly denied by his so called best friend, then _finally_ got the recognition he had wanted all along only to save everyone and sacrifice himself in the progress. Not bad for a first day of life but still.

He couldn't go by the Doctor, not without the possibility of causing all kinds of timey-whimey paradoxes. Enemies coming to Starxtic to get the Doctor/Smith and endangering the innocent inhabitants instead, that couldn't happen for Rassilon's sake they were Watyers! And... also humans.  
>Or maybe someone trying to find the Doctor, someone who needed help, coming here because a lead, they would be so disappointed! What could he, Smith, do? His big brain couldn't think of a single thing...<p>

It would be for the best if everyone, including the Doctor if no one knows he exists. There was no one that could help him. He was by all definition's alone. There's other people on the planet but he can't tell them about what he is or more importantly _who_ he is suppose to be, it would be a hindrance and dangerous. No friends, No family and an identity that wasn't his own. Great.

Sighing Smith stopped running and put in hands in his trouser pockets and looked up at the dark purple night sky.  
>If his sense of time was right, which it usually was to the nanosecond, then Kauls, the Sun of light, would rise in 8 hours, but Caul the Sun of warmth wouldn't rise until around noon. Starxtic had two suns, on projected little warmth but more light and the other projected more heat instead of light. The average temperature was 29C but at night, right now it was around 3C with a cool breeze from the south. It <em>almost<em> gave Smith a home like feel, well it would have to if he was going to live here, is he going to live here?

Undecided.

St. Caleadex was just up ahead, they would accept is and always will be a peaceful planet, unlike Galifrey, he thought miserably, but only for a fifth of a second. It's very sheltered here, mainly because Wayters are protected under Section 799.3 of the Shadow Proclaimion, as a fully established level 7 species, but also because the humans that live here are against violence. Growing crops, tending to animals, and helping the local, the galactic M87 and the intergalactic community. Living basic lives; next to no luxuries. "Outisson Smith!" He shouted out into the open air, causing several dragon-bird like creatures to fly out from the tall grass. What were they? Was it important? It_ felt_ important but he couldn't think why exactly, too busy with himself.

What a brilliant name! Outisson isn't as common in the 51st century as John would be! And Smith! Always good to have a Smith about, Sarah-Jane Smith, what would he have done without his best friend all those years ago? And Rickey... Mickey Smith, the not so Tin dog! The name was convincing enough so long as nobody calls him out it being a depressing name. Outisson; Son of no one.

Patting out his clothes Outisson noted that he needed another set of clothes. His braces and trousers were brunt to shreds, still there though! His jacket, that awesome tweed jacket had been missing since before he arrived, thankfully his bowtie was still with him but lying limply around his collar untied. Outisson still had the factory boots on, but to him it didn't seem as out of place on him as it once had in the acid factory, now he looked more like a straggler  
>At least that was one thing done, now all he needed was some food.<br>Are there fish fingers and custard on this planet? It would be a waste of a trip if there wasn't any.

**Ca-Caw**

Shit! He remembered; Canabacaes. Very important, they are.

Is he staying here?

Hell no!

**A/N, Been a while uh readers? Yes I am now into Doctor Who. Yes I will update. Yes I own the Doctor and his companions, in my dreams**.


	2. Chapter 2

? ? ? ? ? ?

Vortex Manipulators ; Very bad, bad, bad time travel. He'd almost forgotten how badly really.

Smith let out a groan as he came into consciousness. Bleary eyed and disoriented he managed to sit up to be greeted with one of his most favourite sights. Humans, or at the very least humanoids. Early 20th century, Earth, judging by the dress sense and atmosphere, but he still didn't have a clue where or when he was _exactly_. It was all guesswork and rough estimates based on brief assumptions, but it was the best he could work with.

Head pounding, ears ringing, vision darkening, Christ he needed to sit back down. He must look like a bleeding drunk; dishevelled as he was, sitting in an alley and groaning about his head. It wasn't comfortable in the alleyway; his sensitive senses could pick up the smells and sounds more keenly than others around him could and they weren't pleasant to say the least but putting his arms over his head and breathing somewhat steadily helped to clear his head. "One two one two, inhale and exhale" he muttered to himself making sure he followed his own instructions, it wasn't long before the wooziness wore of, superior Time Lord biology and all, and he could hazardously make his up onto his feet and almost recoiled at his blurred reflection.

He was an absolute wreak; Must have been his landing but _wow_. No wonder River made fun of his driving skill if he couldn't get a handle on a vortex manipulator, honestly it wasn't _this_ difficult the last time he used one of these, then again when he was rebooting the universe he probably didn't notice the bloody thing acting up.

Just his luck to end up with a glitch prone VM, worst yet to end up in the 20th century with 51st centaury technology. It wasn't that big a deal in all honesty, he could still get _something_ to fix it with but all the tools he'd find here would be just so _primitive_ in comparison! Then again it would be fun to see if he could fix a device like _this_ in a point in time like _this_. Just to see the possibilities and adjustments he could make.

Groaning he looked at his VM, it was the only way to be clear on the date without asking someone and sounding like a lunatic, not that he wasn't but the world didn't need to know that just yet. Although it had frozen up, the date was present. _England, London, Earth 23:11 December 24__th__ 1942_. Outisson smiled, even though he had a time machine not every day was Christmas! Did he have his Christmas list with him or ... no he didn't darn it! How's Nicky suppose to know what he wants? Grr...

Looking around more clearly now he could tell the humans had put effort into making the streets look just a little bit festive but it wasn't that over done which was unfortunate, a few bits of mistletoe and holly branches hung here and there and banners showing when certain shows were being performed but he's been at all of them so it disinterested him to see any again, probably by the same actors. It was nice to see, but they were also blocked by the "Knock the heil out of Hitler!"

It was quickly growing dark so for the hell of it, Outisson went left. He walked out of the alleyway and turned left, he kept walking and whenever there was a turn, he always went left. Suddenly the lights seemed to flicker off.

When he blinked them back on he wasn't standing in the alleyway underneath a government building but in the middle of a long narrow street cars swerving around him. Usually he ended wherever he needed to be and he never had to plan where he was going to go to, but the TARDIS did that for him, he didn't do it to himself.

Dawn was just breaking, shouts of profanity and blasting of horns seemed to be coming in every direction. Smith spun around in a circle bewildered. How did he get here? He thought to himself as he stumbled out of the street. He leaned against the wood of a boarded window for rest, he had just crossed the street but it felt like he had run a marathon, then again it was morning now and for all he knew he might have. Checking the time, he froze in shock before quickly scrabbling to get the wrist watch like device off because it was _clearly_ broken or glitching up again. It was wrong; it had to be wrong no matter if his instincts told him down to the core of his being that it was opposite.

_England, London, Earth 06:09 January 14__th__ 1493_

One trip, he can't do one trip right can he? An alarm blared out and the whole street seemed to freeze up, Smith, startled by the noise, covered up his ears. "Better get to the shelters..." he heard the passerby's mutter. And wasn't that blooming brilliant, stuck in London during an air raid, Smith thought stumbling into another alley, his head had some cowboys in there, not actual cowboy although that can happen but he had the mother of all headaches right now.

He realized he would have to go to the shelters as it would be suicidal not to, sighing he turned to follow the crowd when a flash of blue caught his attention, and not just any type of blue, the bluest of blues.

Looking, in no concealed horror, at the tall, blue, bigger-on-the-inside box before him, Outisson cursed himself, fully intending on turning around and walking away but foolishly and unexplainably almost floated towards it, as if in a trance. Well, he reasoned with himself, if anything was going to survive an air raid it would be his TARDIS, or _his_ TARDIS more accurately but still. The 1960's police box stood over in the corner half covered by the shadows, vibrations of life humming in waves towards him. Drawing him in, drawing him to one of the safest places in the universe for him; drawing him home.

Rushing over Outisson put his hand against the handle and pushed, but nothing happened. Frowning, he rattled the locks again but nothing happened, he was fully prepared to try snapping his fingers when the telephone started to ring. Blinking he stared at the phone as it echoed around the narrow walls."Now, what am I suppose to do with a ringing phone?" he asked the air around him in disbelief.

"Answer it; actually that's a pretty good idea Smith. Well done you" he answered half because he needed a answer and half encouraging himself to do it. Picking up the phone he put it to his ear Smith swallowed. "Hello, you have reached the blue box, how may I help you?" he said confidently.

"Are..." came a static filled voice at the other end. One that was quite familiar to him but he couldn't put his finger on why.

"Are the Nazi's coming?" he quietly cried dubiously with glee, thoroughly ignoring the pit of dread crawling in his stomach for some reason.

"Are you..."

"Am I insane? Clearly!" Smith replied in full humour, he could help it, he felt like he had to either laugh or cry in this situation but he didn't fully comprehend why.

"Are you... my... mummy?"

Oh.

Now he got it.


End file.
